


muse

by spencerdee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And Ballerina!Amelie gives me life, F/F, Leanan Sidhe!Mercy, Playing around bec this ship is gorg but idk how to write em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spencerdee/pseuds/spencerdee
Summary: She was beautiful, and Angela never knew that one could make such art with their own body.





	muse

As Angela situated herself in the dimly-lit theatre, the crowd hushing into silence as an overhead spotlight focused on the claret silk curtains concealing the stage, she thought of art and the people who made such beauty possible.

She thought of poems, of tragedies, of epics, of adventure, of romance. She thought of music, of crescendos, of harmony, of rhythm, of tempo. She thought of paintings, of colours, of abstracts, of impressions.

She thought of poets and musicians and painters, and of the spark in their eyes as inspiration burst from within them and spilled to the page, to the strings, to the canvas. She thought of the beauty of creation, the sight of frantic movement, of hurried fluidity to capture a fleeting image and immortalize it.

She thought of life, given to their art, perfected and touched. She thought of life, taken with every new work finished and polished, of falling in the youthful folly of wanting greatness for a price they too big to comprehend.

The greater the ambition, the _tastier_ the soul.

The curtains parted, and the performance began. Agile bodies, lithe and dextrous, personification of grace. This was a new fixation of Angela Ziegler, and one that proved to be the most captivating. Her eyes were set on one in particular, the lead, long limbs flowing with the story of a tale retold among generations, face painted in anguish, yearning for a love wrenched from her arms.

She was _beautiful_ , and Angela never knew that one could make such art with their own body.

She traced every contour, followed every fluid jerk of movement, and her heart galloped despite herself. It was entrancing, and Angela wanted _more_.

She wanted to hold it, mold it, and bring forth potential unseen by these mortal eyes. She wanted to taste it, the soul that breathed life into everything, bright and _full_.

She wanted her, and Angela Ziegler always got what she wanted.

* * *

"Beautiful," she spoke, watching intently as a dark flush rose to the cheeks of the ballerina in front of her. "It was a phenomenal performance, Amélie."

Amélie's teeth bit into her lower lips in an attempt to hide her smile, but it was in futility. " _Merci_ , Angela. You know you don't have to attend each of my shows, but I do appreciate it."

"Of course, I have to," Angela purred, erasing the distance between them and pinning Amélie against her vanity, smirking at the soft squeak made by the brunette. She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on full lips, relishing in the taste of coffee and spice, and _talent_. She pulled back, whispering against shuddering lips, "I'm your _muse_ , after all."

A grin, and Angela straightened herself, a hand rising to settle on Amélie's cheek, thumb stroking the pale skin. She truly was beautiful, every inch of her, and in everything she did. The applause that still rang in Angela's ears, and the glinting of trophies of appreciation on Amélie's dresser were testament to that fact, and Angela _thirsted_.

She'd keep on being Amélie's muse for as long she could, and when her lips turned cold and her eyes turned blank... then Angela would move on as she was wont to do.

She'd heard of some talented young DJ by the name of Lucio, after all, and her thirst was never satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> A muse has definitely not visited me, but it's okay. I'd rather live.


End file.
